


Chapter Twenty-One: Cooking/Baking (AKA A Whole Lamb's Head?)

by a_xmasmurder



Series: 30 Days of OTP: Bond/Q [21]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Cooking, Developing Relationship, Everyone is relaxing in Tel Aviv, M/M, Mission Fic, NO MORE PLANE TERROR, Q is better now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They get to Tel Aviv without A) Falling out of the sky, B) Getting bombed out of the sky, C) Hitting a flock of albatross and falling out of the sky that way, D) Spontaneously combusting, or E) Getting hit by lightning. This is a good thing! Q is happy now! Sparkles and Confetti!</p><p>They also realise just how bored they are going to be. Hell, another vacation! Yay! More confetti! If only it weren't so damned...hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Twenty-One: Cooking/Baking (AKA A Whole Lamb's Head?)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one, guys. It's...been a weird one.

Bond opened his eyes as Q’s fingernails dug into his chest. His brain and body registered the smooth transition from flying to rolling along the tarmac at Ben Gurion International Airport. He registered that he was on a plane to Israel. He registered that he was on a mission with Alec - yipee biscuits - then finally registered the young man - Q - curled up against his torso, whimpering and shaking and muttering “We are going to die, we are going to go off the runway and blow up, someone is going to hit us with a fucking Armburst or something, we are going to die.” _Oh, damn it._

“Evan, it’s fine, we are fine. We are on the ground, it’s safe, we are going to be alright.” He pulled Q’s head in to rest against his throat. _God, he’s sweating. He’s bloody terrified. Poor...God, what the hell did he go though that made him this bad?_ Bond kept talking to him in a low voice through the landing, taxiing, and finally the flight attendant telling them to have a grand day and thank you for flying with British Airways. He managed to get Q up and moving, out of the plane and into one of the terminals, away from the airplanes, and into the lounge. He sat the now silent man down on one of the couches and parked himself and their carry-ons next to him. He watched Q as he breathed, stress written in pinched expressions and slight twitches each time the intercom announced a flight departure or arrival. He felt, more than saw, Alec sit down behind them on the opposite facing couch, his friend rather quiet and reserved for being on another mission. This whole thing could become a disaster... _Argh. This_ is _a disaster_...Finally, he took Q’s thin hands into his own and held them. Little by little, the line of Q’s shoulders eased, and his respiration slowed down to something more like irritation than all out panic. A soft buzzing in his pocket announced a text. Bond pulled his phone out to look and snorted.

 

_**[text]-- Alright. I get it. No sexy ladies on the flight back. I took care of the paperwork and all of that. M wants to know if he’s alright, R wants to know why he’s been ignoring his phone, and Analysis wants to know why he hasn’t gotten back to them about the intelligence yet. What should I tell them? --** _

 

“Tell M that if he wants me to go on another flight, he had better allow heavy medication.” Bond startled, something he wasn’t used to, and stared down at a rather more coherent Quartermaster reading Alec’s text, his gaunt face pressed up against Bond’s bicep. “R can take a flying leap, I’ve been intentionally ignoring anything from them, because it's nothing good at this point. And Analysis can fucking burn in Hell.” Q fiddled with his own phone now - _When the hell did he pull it out?_ \- and reached down for his messenger bag. “I suppose I’ll take a look at the intel now. When are we going to the s- _ugh_ , the house?”

 _He’s going to be fine._ Bond nodded. “Alec’s done. Let’s go.”

With a small nod, Q stood, not even looking up from his phone.

  
  
  
  


 

“And we are here.” Alec patted the steering wheel of their rental Mercedes Benz happily as he pulled into the long driveway.

Q looked up from his laptop and smiled. The flat-roofed, two story house was better than he’d expected. It looked well taken care of by the various MI6 agents that used it on a regular basis. The trees and flowers surrounding the white stucco safehouse splashed colour on an otherwise bland tapestry of browns and tans that made up the desert metropolis. “Oh, splendid! It looks lovely. Lovely and -”

“Lovely and secure,” Bond said at the same time. Q shot a quick glance up to the agent and smiled at him.

“Yes. Very secure, considering the interference I’m picking up on my scanner. It’s fashionable as well.”

Alec stopped in front of the three-car garage and set the Benz into park. “Alright, tour over. Leave tips in the used travel mug in the console, and thank you for riding with your favorite taxi driver once more. Come again!”

Bond punched Alec’s shoulder as he got out of the front seat. “Dick.”

“Arsehole.”

“Boys!” Q pushed his way out of the sunken back seat and out of the car, rounding to the boot again. “Someone pop the lid so I can get the delicate electronics out of this ungodly heat? Things are going to start melting.”

Both agents rolled their eyes and helped their Quartermaster with the massive amount of equipment.

“You know, it’s your fault for bringing this much. We could have bought most of this.” Alec huffed up the stairs with the roll of cabling.

Q snorted. “Yes, and run the risk of not having the exact component I need at the moment and needing to wait at least twenty-four hours for it? Not going to happen.” He pushed open the door, taking note of the security system - and at least five ways to improve it without having to rip out whole sections of wall, _fifteen if you count the more destructive remodels, possibly sixteen..._

“Evan.” The sound of his name being spoken in that seductive voice...Q blinked and turned his head from where he’d obviously been staring at the doorjamb.

“Oh, sorry. Mind wandered again.” He ducked his head and moved into the foyer to allow the larger man into the cool building...well, cooler. The air conditioner worked hard to keep up with the heat of the day, but there wasn’t much of a dent made in it. Of course, Bond and Trevelyan moved through like this was not even on their radar as a threat. _Well, for them it isn’t. They are  most likely trained to deal with desert conditions. Me, on the other hand...I will die here, I think. If I don't turn into a lobster, I will be a melted pile of components._

“Q, why don’t you sit down and really acclimate before you start imitating your electronics? There’s a few techs here already, and our package is on its way as we speak. Let them do all the work.” James had a hand on his shoulder, but it was Alec who’d spoken. He could see the agent had one hand stuck in the freezer when Bond steered him into the open plan kitchen/dining area. “You just went through an exhausting and undoubtedly traumatic experience. Relax. Sit.”

Q noted with some excitement that there wasn’t a table to be found, but a low-lying wooden plank with a blanket covering it. Fluffy-looking, brightly patterned and colourful cushions and pillows surrounded it on three sides, the fourth side left open for delivery of the food most likely. Q stood and smiled at it, eyelids low, a thrum of pleasure pulsing through his veins at the cooler air blowing into the open area, and James saw him shiver with it. The involuntary motion made the agent want Q in new ways. He set down the mess in his arms and flicked a wrist at a milling tech, who wasted no time in coming over. The man was several inches taller than all three of them, but hardly half of Bond's weight, built much like Q, only even less so.

“Hello. My name is Ari. I’ll be assisting you with the setup of...” The young man made little gestures at the piles of parts on the stone floor in front of them, “...this. Um. Whatever it is.”

Q smiled up at him, one eyebrow arching. James couldn't help but snort a laugh that was diplomatically ignored by the Quartermaster. “I’m in charge of this operation. I’m sure you already know who I am?”

James watched with growing respect and pride as Q - _his Q_ \- became something other than the utterly catatonic man on the plane. He was right all along. He would be fine as soon as he hit dirt on the other side of the flight. The man instantly fell into his role here - the one as Quartermaster, and essentially what he said: the commander of the mission. The agent did not bristle at the apparent assumption, and as he looked up at Alec, neither did the other man. They weren’t stupid; how many times has Q run their and countless other missions since he began? So instead of letting the alpha dog tugging at its leash inside his head loose, Bond folded his arms over his dampened dress shirt and watched the Quartermaster take charge. It was a beautiful thing, even more beautiful out here, in the field, out of Q Branch, out of the technological element that Q normally lived in. Q. _Evan_ , Bond remembered. _Evan Holbrook. A handsome name._ Alec appeared next to him, holding an ice cream bar out for him to take.

“So.” Alec bit his in half right off, swallowing quickly. Bond prefered to take his time about it, really.

“So.”

“Looking at this...do you think he’s going to crack or no?”

Bond shook his head. “I don’t. It’s almost as if he’s at his desk again.” They watched as the three technicians and one field agent scuttled around, taking parts of infrastructure and bits of tech where Q directed. “Giving orders, taking control, handing out assignments...” Q pulled the tab of his messenger bag open and took out his tablet, powering it up with one hand while jabbering electronic bullshit at the field agent - _Agent Toulson, actually_ \- and James laughed low in his chest. “Beautiful.”

“You are worse than a normal puppy.” Alec sighed.

“Am not.”

“You are a golden fucking retriever puppy.”

“Hardly.”

“Panting happily in his face, licking him any time he is within two feet of you, wiggling in glee every time he acknowledges you even fucking exist. James. You will bring him his slippers and pipe at night, and keep his feet warm at the foot of the bed. Eat your ice cream before you are wearing it.”

James took a healthy bite of the softening treat. “I have other ideas on how to keep him warm at night, but he won’t need it here. I’m half afraid he might melt on us. We’ll need to keep him in a pail by the door.”

Q finally turned around, satisfied with the amount of work being done, and walked the couple of steps he’d been separated from James. “Are you two discussing me again?”

“Only your proclivity towards turning into a liquid state in temperatures over 38 degrees and how much of a domesticated creature our dear assassin has become.” Alec pushed off the free-standing wall. “Would you like something cold? Beer, ice cream -” He paused as he saw slight flush wash over Q’s face. “Oh fuck, really?” He hit Bond in the shoulder. “Ruined ice cream socials for me now, haven’t you, you fuckin’ dog!”

Bond and Q broke into laughter, and Alec stomped off. “Fuck you two. Twice. For that, all anyone’s getting from me is Blackadder quips and ice cubes.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Q did indeed lie down for a nap, pressed up against Bond’s hip as the agent scrolled through the new intelligence. It really was looking for all the world like a run of the mill, simple close protection gig. Alexander Crabb - their Principle - turned out to be the complete opposite of what he’d expected the man to be. Instead of an overweight entitled public school cunt with absolutely no common sense and even less survival sense, Crabb was a man of average height, in his sixties with the slight paunch to go with the age, and a worldly man. He shook hands with Alec and Bond earlier and discussed his current itinerary for the week with the agents, willing to let them take the reins and run this ‘dog and pony show’ - this was out of Crabb’s mouth - until his company appointed team were able to fly in.

“They sent you here, to a potentially hostile country, with no one? No back up?” Alec was in the study down the hall, and James could still hear him. _Poor Crabb. Maybe I should have handled this..._ He reached down to brush the hair away from Q’s sleep-slack face, noting the dark circles of exhaustion and not enough sleep resting just above those sharp cheekbones of his. _You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you, Evan?_ He kept his fingers there, playing with the errant dark curls, and turned his attention back to the political situation in Israel. Other than the usual tensions, nothing stood out to him. Nothing at all. His head jerked up as his friend dropped the folder M had given them onto his knee.

“Well?”

Alec shrugged one shoulder. “One week here, doing pretty much nothing until his goons show up?” He snorted. “I thought M wasn’t going to send us on any more vacations?”

Bond nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I’m thinking, too. You know the drill.”

“Oh, of course, Bond. As far as he knows, we are with ArmorGroup. Papers and all.” He nudged the folder. “We _could_ check up on some informants in this area, shake down some known players...mess around at Station T for a bit afterwards? Delay the inevitable?” He looked pointedly at the slightly snoring hacker pressing his head against Bond's hip joint.

“Oh, I plan on getting something to help on the way back. I’m not sitting there, watching Evan slowly go insane one more time.” Bond smiled down at Q. “Besides. He might like it here, and we won’t leave.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit, James.” Alec narrowed his eyes playfully. “You know damned well that he’s going to be complaining within the hour.” He turned and headed to the kitchen once more. “I’m going to escort this man back to his hotel. I’m taking Toulson with me. I can trust you two not to mess things up while I’m gone?”

“Yes, mother.” James shut the laptop and set it on the coffee table next to the couch in the hall.

“Have fun, boys!”

  
  
  
  
  


 

Q padded quietly into the absolutely brilliant kitchen, blinking blearily at the fading sunlight, watching Alec and James, friend and boyfriend, milling about, tossing things into pans and flipping them, tossing even more things into a pot - Q might have recognised an onion of some sort - and then a whole lamb’s head! Q sort of jerked, his head swimming with the sensory overload that waking up in an unfamiliar place causes. He stared with wide eyes at everything, trying to allow only the basic information through his foggy brain.

_James and Alec are cooking something that requires whole vegetables and a whole lamb’s head._

_It smells heavenly in here, rosemary and basil and thyme and curried everything._

_The sunlight is bathing everything in gold and orange fire, shining extravagantly off of the copper bottomed cookware._

_James is laughing at me. Nothing new, there._

_Now Alec is laughing at me. Fuck._

“Why are you two laughing at me? My hair always looks like this.” Q pawed at his wild hair and grunted something else, but even he didn’t know what it was. “Where’s the fridge?”

“Beer?”

“Lovely, but no, James. I’m looking for something to go with coffee.” Q wandered over, barefoot and still in the suit James had bought him two days - _hell, I don't know what fucking day it is anymore!_ \- prior. Two days? Maybe it was only one. Doesn’t matter. It was comfortable enough that he slept on a couch with it, and he was _definitely_ using his bonus to get himself a suit from David. He noticed he’d stopped in his tracks, too far from the steel-fronted fridge, when his brain had taken that detour to the little shop on Savile Row. The look on Bond’s face when the agent had seen him in this suit...it was burned into his memory forever now...”Damn it. Focus. Milk. Milk and sugar for coffee. Ugh.” He continued on his mission for coffee. He would need milk from the fridge. So, fridge first. Yes.

Alec groaned. “How the hell can you drink coffee! It’s still Satan’s armpit out there.”

“He will drink coffee if there was a shop on Mercury.”

“Only if there were a shuttle service there, and I could be knocked out for the ride.” Q murmured as he reached into the blessedly cool door and grabbed the pint of milk, then opened a couple drawers, then groaned morosely. “You don’t find sugar in the fridge, do you? Why am I even looking in the crisper?”

Alec stared at him, then at Bond when the agent laughed out loud. “No, sugar is on the island, white container.” He pointed with his soup spoon. “And you are the Quartermaster?”

“Trust me, he’s much better when he’s on missions.” James shook his head. “Wait. You are joking. Nevermind.” He went back to doing...whatever he was doing to something chunky in the pan on the hob.

Q sat down on one of the stools and whined. “Someone make me coffee!”

"Told you he'd start complaining."

"Shut up and boil your head, Alec."

"Dick."

"Arsehole."

"Coffee, or I murder people!" Q grunted and swatted uselessly at James with a dish flannel. "Starting with you two!"

 


End file.
